


Trouble Brewing

by Ravenshell



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2003), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Italian Food, No Plot/Plotless, Original Character(s), Witch - Freeform, Witch Curses, Witches, character piece
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2019-10-19 00:09:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17591066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenshell/pseuds/Ravenshell
Summary: No-nonsense witch Agnes Mildew adopts the grown teenage turtles and brings a little magic into their lives.    2k3 Turtles world.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> These will just be character moments, no overarching plot here. For Tarin2014tfan, who enjoyed Agnes from my Halloween Challenge drabbles (which can be found on deviantart/RavenshellRorschach) and suggested adding her to the TMNT world.
> 
> All of Agnes's words of power resemble names of foreign food said in Japanese.

Chapter 1 - Agnes’s Alley Allies  
  
“Come on, Gran-Gran, fork over the pocketbook.”  
  
The silver-haired hag narrowed her eyes.  “Young man, does your mother know that you’re out at this hour?”  
  
The thug earned some jeers from his companions and in retaliation, gave the old woman a shove that overbalanced her off her granny boots and sent her flat on her backside, her wide-brimmed hat rolling off to the side.  To her credit, she only looked pissed off rather than afraid as she began picking herself up.  “Now, that’s about enough of that!” she said irately, seeming oblivious to the knife being wielded at her or the six strapping young gang members there to take advantage of her.  “Clearly, you boys need some lessons in—”  
  
But then four shapes dropped from the fire escapes of the surrounding buildings, sounds of hard impacts with flesh and air being knocked out of lungs, angered and frightened shouts soon following.  
  
“—manners,” the old woman finished in an awed voice.  She tried to catch sight of her, well, heroes, she assumed.  It was impossible to see more than an outline of a body moving in the gloom of the alley against the faint light from the street.  Yet there was a definite bulk to these newcomers, and an oddly rounded contour to their backs, almost like—  
  
She suddenly had to jump to the side to avoid being smashed into the wall by one of her rescuers as he was flung backward into it, that rounded back of his making a sharp whack against the brickwork.  He hissed, clutching his arm with a misshapen hand—though he paid no attention to his back where it had impacted—then leapt back into the fray.  
  
And moments later, just like that, the fighting ceased, gang members lying groaning and immobile on the pavement.  
  
”Here you go,” a kind voice said, and her clutch purse was gently shoved back into her hands.  “We’ll make sure the police take care of your attackers here.  Head on home now, and try not to make a habit of straying into dark alleys.”  
  
“Thank you,” she said meekly, still trying to catch a glimpse of the daring young men, or creatures, who had come to her aid.  “Just a moment, let me give you—”  
  
“We don’t need a reward.  Just keep yourself safe,” the one who had spoken before said, then moved away and turned his attention to the others.  “How’s the arm, Raph?”  
  
“’s fine!” a defiant voice called back.  “Just a scratch, it ain’t even—”  
  
“It’s definitely bleeding.”  
  
“Traitor.”  
  
“Ow!  What was that for?! I didn’t even say anything!”  
  
“No, but you were thinkin’ it!”  
  
The leader sighed.  “Let’s head home, then, so we can tend that properly.”  
  
She spoke up.  “If you’ll wait a moment, I can help you with—”     
  
“It’s all right… we can manage it on our own, thank you.  Let’s go,” he said, and with a flurry of upward motion, the four shapes disappeared, obscured by the building as they reached the rooftops.  
  
Agnes shook her head.  “Youngsters.”  Shuffling around in the dark, she eventually felt her way to her hat, which she picked up and dusted off, eyeing it critically.  It had gotten a bit trampled in the fight, the pointy tip now bent in a zigzag.  “Hmph,” she declared.  “Looks better this way.  Now then…”  She opened her clutch and drew out a scraggly stick much longer than the purse physically allowed for, and waved it in a quick circle above her head.  “The police are much too soft in these matters… a night or two in a cushy cell, and you’re back where you started, never having learned your lesson.  But let’s see if spending some time as something more humble teaches you some humility!  Gazupacchio!”    
  
A brief red firework shot from the gnarled twig, splitting in six, one spark landing on the head of each of the semiconscious young men, all of whom shrank within their clothes, and after struggling out of the material, emerged as a toad, a mouse, a garter snake, a gerbil, a salamander, and a centipede.  “There, much improved.  I suggest you mind yourselves around cars, cats, birds, and people’s feet.  As to our friends…”  
  
A quick lightning-bolt motion of the wand, and a ball of yellow light the size of a marble appeared, lighting the alley completely.  Normally, people were easy enough to track if she cared to, but these four fellows had left nothing behind except the barely moving thugs.  And then again… She examined the ground next to the wall where she’d nearly gotten squished.  A few red droplets stood out against the pale gray concrete.  “Ah,” she muttered to herself.  “Blood will do nicely.”    
  
A wave of the stick had the tiny drops rising into the air as liquid spheres, then whirling in a circle as the old crone murmured an incantation and drew a pair of complex sigils in the air.  Dark smoke began to billow from the orbit of the blood drops, its clouds rolling downward to the ground, and as soon as it touched and began to spread, Agnes strode into it.  Seconds later, the droplets fell and splatted on the ground once more, the cloud dissipated, and the light snuffed out.  The witch herself was gone.


	2. Meemaw Agnes Comes to Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Formal introductions, and Agnes wedges her way into their lives.

Chapter 2 – Meemaw Agnes Comes to Stay

 

Agnes stepped out of the smoke and was immediately confounded by her whereabouts.  The spell was supposed to have taken her to the place most frequented by her odd rescuer, but this looked far too industrial to be a home!  Much like an old water treatment facility.  And on the other hand, it _did_ contain signs of being lived in… much more than just the occasion pizza box and takeout container.  A tower of televisions and a weightlifting bench, racks of exotic weapons, a table with a microscope and test tubes, posters and hangings and neon signs on the walls, the little needlepoint sign that read, “Sewer Sweet Sewer” (which did explain the off-putting smell), and… was that a submarine?

“Dear me,” she muttered to herself.  Perhaps she had bitten off a bit more than she could chew…  Not that it would stop her.  No, a good turn deserved its reward, and whatever these creatures were, they’d been brave and honorable to an old woman in a pinch.  There had to be some way she could reward them.

She ran a finger over a handrail to check the dustiness.  At the very least, the place could use a woman’s touch…

The people she’d encountered, or, at the least, the one whose blood she’d found and used the homing spell on—well, of sorts—hadn’t arrived yet.

A hatch suddenly unlocked and swung open, heralding the arrival of the occupants. 

“…for once in ya life, Leo, wouldja just leave it?!” sounded the voice of the injured one.

“I will ‘leave it’ once you stop needlessly throwing yourself into the path of danger and getting yourself injured!”  That would be the gentleman who returned her handbag.

Another chimed in.  “Donnie, when you’re done stitching Raph up, would ya check my ears?  I think they’re bleeding from the constant bickering these two do…”

And then they caught sight of each other. 

 _Kappas!_ she thought.  _How wonderful!_ Or, no… not precisely kappas… they didn’t have the dish of water on their heads…

Her joy and excitement evaporated when the gentle-seeming leader swiftly pulled a sword from his back, advancing on her in rapid strides.  She shrank back only a little.

“Hey, it’s the lady from the alley!” the loudmouthed one remarked.

“Yeah, but what’s wit’ the Halloween costume?”

The swordsman… swords _turtle_ paused.  “Who are you, and why are you here?”

“More importantly, how did you bypass all of my security measures?” the one wearing the purple bandana asked.

“I used a homing spell, but it seems rather to have been mislabeled.  Brought me to your home rather than tracking _you_.”  She nodded to the belligerent one in red.  “Blood magics are powerful things… you really ought to be careful about leaving any lying about.”  She then turned back to the leader.  “My name’s Agnes Mildew.  I came to repay your kindness and—”

“We need no repayment.  Thank you,” the leader said briskly, with an implied ‘please go’ hanging on the end, which she conveniently ignored.

“What kinda name is ‘Mildew’?  Some kinda stage name?  What is it really?”

“That _is_ my real name, thank you, Doubting Thomas.  Agnes Meducillina Mildew.”

“Meducillina??”                                                                                                           

“It was my grandmother’s name.”

“Guys, don’t you see?  She’s a witch!  A real live one!”  The enthusiastic turtle proceeded to point out all the critical features.  “Pointy hat, warty hook nose, magic wand, bandy stockings, heeled buckle boots…”

“Mikey,” the purple-banded one explained, “magic doesn’t exist.  This is either just a costume, or…” he dropped his voice, “…we’re dealing with someone mentally unstable.”

The witch set her wrists against her hips.  “I may be old, but my hearing is just fine, thank you.”  The turtle blushed meekly, but Agnes went on.  “Kids these days, don’t believe anything…”

“Where’s yer broomstick?  Ain’t witches s’posed ta have broomsticks?”

Agnes clucked her tongue.  “Of course!  It’s here in my handbag…”

“In her handbag…” the red-bandanaed turtle scoffed and elbowed his orange-banded fellow, who looked scandalized that anyone would dare question an obvious witch.

“No, really, it’s…”  The witch unfastened the little purse and reached into it, up to her elbow, then seemed to rifle around inside.  After a moment of frustration, she pulled her arm out and peered inside.  “’s fallen over…” she muttered in annoyance, this time plunging her arm in to the shoulder to draw out a five foot long, somewhat wavy stick with a collection of straw bound at one end.  The red turtle’s jaw dropped open.  The orange one puffed up in smugness. Purple shook his head skeptically.

“That’s just some simple street illusion.  She probably had it under her dress, and just made it look like a Mary Poppins effect.”

The hag shrugged, tossing her head to one side.  “If you say so…”  She set the broom in midair at waist-height, where it floated steadily.  She turned and hopped up onto it, as if sitting on a park bench, and crossed her legs.  The broom gave a slight bob under her weight, but quickly resumed its original height.

“Well, Donnie?  You gonna try to explain _that_ away?” Orange—Mikey, rather, she’d picked up—taunted.  Purple, apparently named Donnie, circled around her several times, mouth agape, then clutching at his chin, shaking his head, searching above and below her for any means of support or rigging. Gentle Blue Leader joined him, looking  as puzzled, though possibly without the rising frustration of his comrade.  Occasionally one or the other would wave a three-fingered hand beneath her, feeling for wires.

“That’s imp… It’s imposs… There has to be…” ‘Donnie’ kept muttering as he lapped her again and again, still looking for a way to disprove what he saw with his own eyes. Tsk, mortals.

“Now, you’re making me quite dizzy, young… er…”  She’d been about to say ‘man, but wasn’t sure if that was appropriate, given that technically they weren’t _men_ … and did they call themselves kappas?  Turtles?  “…Young sir,” she finally decided.  “Pick a spot and stick with it, would you, please?”

The turtle-man looked abashed, blushing once more and straightening up from his position of peering below the broomstick for the umpteenth time, and reddened even further once he realized his actions could be misconstrued as looking up her skirts.  “Sorry…I just can’t figure it out.”

She grinned down at him.  “Well, it’s magic, of course!”  She received a dry smile and a ‘hmm’ from him that said the matter was not settled, but he’d table it for now.

“All right,” Blue said at last, “we’ll accept for now the possibility that you truly are a witch.”

“Much appreciated,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

“But are you a good witch, or a bad witch?” ‘Mikey’ broke in with in a high and chirpy falsetto.  She smirked.

The leader groaned and facepalmed at the interruption.  “Mikey, no…”

“Good.  Bad.  I’m the witch with the wand.”  She waved it, leaving a trail of gold sparkles in its wake, just for effect.

The turtle-man squealed ecstatically, dancing from foot to foot.  “She’s a witch that does Evil Dead quotes!!”

Agnes let out a chuckle at this, but it escalated quickly into a full-on cackle.  This delighted the dancing turtle even more, and he launched himself over to give her an affectionate squeeze.  “Can we keep her, Leo?  Pleeeeaaaase?”

“Mikey, you don’t… We can’t…”  The leader sighed, seeming to give up.

Agnes’s focus had shifted elsewhere, to the burly, surly fighter of the four.  “Young man, your arm… you were wounded in the fight?”  She beckoned to him.  She realized her slip of the tongue, but he didn’t seem fazed by the moniker.  “And your name was?”

“Raphael.  And ‘s nothin’,” he repeated, coming over anyway to show her the cut.

“Oh, you dear thing…” she tsked, heaping on the pity while taking his wounded forearm in her hand.  “And while you were helping an old woman keep her purse…”

The big turtle beamed under her coddling.  “It’s fine.  Got worse shaving.”

“You don’t have hair!” Don called, rushing over now that Raph had his arm out on display.  “Be careful, I still need to clean that, and it needs stitching up…”

The witch huffed.  “Medics and their needles… so barbaric!” she said, and the red-banded turtle smirked his agreement.  “Hold this nice and still,” she told Raph sweetly, as though he might get a lollipop after if he was a good boy, and pointed her wand at the upper end of the slash.  “This might tingle a bit.  Malinala!”  The tip glowed a vibrant green, and she moved the spark slowly up his arm.

Donnie all but lost his shell.  He nearly jumped on them to stop her.  “What are you DOING?!  You can’t—!”  But apparently, she could.  The wound sealed closed, bit by bit, with the barest white scar left behind.  Don looked incensed that she seemed to have done a better job than he would have done.  And that Raph, of all people, had cooperated!  And, indeed, Agnes reached into her handbag and produced a bright red cherry lollipop, which Raph received along with a pat on the head.

Don seized Raph’s arm as soon as Agnes backed away (still perched on her broom), inspecting it at close proximity, carefully at first, then poking and prodding once assured the wound was indeed firmly closed.  “But… what… HOW?!”

Raph chomped smugly on his candy, shifting the stick around in his mouth.  “ _You_ never gave me candy after getting’ patched up, Don.”

The genius let out an aggravated growl throwing his hands in the air and storming off to his lab.

Leo cut in abruptly.  “All right.  You’ve healed Raphael up, we consider that a favor repaid in full.  Let me escort you topside, and you can be on your way…”

“Are you sure, my dear?” she asked, hovering along after Leo with the slightest shift on the broomstick.  “Especially with your aura as dingy as it is… you wouldn’t like me to stay and help with that?”

“I’ll deal with my aura on my own, thank you.”  Hiding any reaction to this slight to his meditative techniques he stoically continued ushering her out of the lair.

“I mean, you’ve all got it.  Even the cheerful one is showing some gray clouds around him, though his brightness keeps them from showing to the rest of you.  Yours are the worst.  Dark, stormy.  You’ve… had some kind of trauma recently that’s really hit home.  A death in the family?”

Leo’s emotionless exterior cracked as his head tilted to the side and his brows knit.  “But… How could you know that?”

The witch shrugged, mostly with her eyes.  “Just a guess, based on experience in dealing with these sorts of things.  You get a feel for it over the years.”  She hopped off the broom and took the odd three-fingered hand in her own. Turning it upward, she traced the lines of it with her fingers.  “I see a father figure.”

A knot gathered in Leo’s throat, and he tried to swallow it away.  “Our adoptive father, who raised us, passed away… about six months ago.”  He motioned to a framed picture on the wall: a giant rat, holding four grinning little turtles.  The old woman’s eyes widened for a moment, but she seemed to take this revelation perfectly in stride.

“Well.  That settles it then.  I’m adopting the four of you.”

Leo’s eyes bugged out.  “What?”

“Wait, what?” Raph echoed from where he and Mike were prodding at the magically-sealed scar on his arm.

“All right!” Mikey whooped with an arm pump.

The witch nodded firmly once, crossing her arms for emphasis.  “You’re much too young to be on your own in this world.” 

The turtle leader immediately objected… well, tried to.  “We’re nineteen.  Technically, we’re already adults.”

She nodded again.  “As I said, much too young.  You need someone to be the voice of experience in your lives.  Someone who knows and remember things beyond your lifetime and experience.  Yours has gone; I’ll fill in as a surrogate.  So I’ll just pop home and arrange for some of my things to be brought over.”

Raphael looked incredulous.  “Leo, you’re not seriously lettin’ her move in wid us, are ya?”  While he didn’t seem to mind the odd old bird, this was apparently going too far in his book.

“Really, it’s no trouble,” she breezed.  “I can set up anywhere.  Mmh, here, for example.”  She waved her wand at the wall next to the rooms on the upper tier.  “Fettsuchinni!”  The wall simply expanded until another room fit in it, complete with an ornately carved, strangely wavy wooden door that severely clashed with the industrial look of the rest of the lair.  Donnie came running out of his lab at the rumbling and scraping of stonework, standing and staring, agape, with the ret of his brothers.

One turtle’s joy was evident, and he was dancing again.  “Are you really gonna stay and live with us??”  He gasped in sudden realization.  “Will you be like our rent-a-grandma?”

Agnes couldn’t help but let out a wild cackle.  “I suppose I will, Michael.”

“-angelo,” he finished for her, and when her brow creased in confusion, added, “It’s Michelangelo,” then pointed to each of his brothers.  “Leonardo, Donatello, Raphael.  We’re a matched set!”  He paused and whispered behind a hand, “Except for Raph.  He’s adopted.  But don’t tell him.”

She cackled again at this.  “You certainly are!  What marvelous names!  Though I can see why you shorten them!  And I’ll be Grammie Agnes, then?”

“She’s not our grandmother!” Don objected.  “She’s not even related to us!”

“Neither was Splinter… not technically,” Mikey countered.  "Besides, all witches have  grandma names.  Ooh, can you be Meemaw?  I’ve never had a Meemaw!”

Her smile stretched across her face.  “Meemaw Agnes it is!” she declared, and then even she jumped as her wand suddenly let off a bright silver firework.  “Wanda approves.”

Raph, Leo and Don stood together, looking like the world had just gone on without them.

“Did… we really just let a witch move in with us?”

“’Let’ is questionable.”

“I don’t see ya turnin’ her away, Fearless.”

Leo nodded toward Mikey and the old hag.  “Have you seen Mikey this happy since Splinter died?”  Raph looked over to the pair, and shook his head.  “Are you gonna be the one to tell Mikey he can’t have a Meemaw?  Because it’s not going to be me.”


	3. I Hate Quantums

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don gains a little insight into the workings of magic.

The crone sat patiently, holding her wand up as it controlled a floating figure-eight of chained paperclips, while Donatello scribbled things in a notebook.  After a moment, his brows knit, and he crossed out his previous statement and started another, then crossed this out as well.

“It shouldn’t be able to do that!” he wailed, flailing his hands about.  “This is breaking every law of Newtonian physics!”  Miserably, he threw his arms across the desk and let his head drop onto them in defeat.

“Well, I’ve always been one to operate above the law, heh, heh, heh,” the witch grinned to herself and let the paperclip chain fall next to the turtle’s  bowed head.

Don sat back up to argue.  “Agnes, this isn’t like jaywalking or tax evasion...”

“Or vigilante justice?” she suggested, feigning a sweet and innocent tone and batting her eyes. She almost had him expecting actual bats to fly from her lashes at this point.  He blushed a bit at her implication.

“…yes.  These are the hard and fast rules that make up the universe!  You can’t just… take a shortcut around them!”

“I don’t see why not,” the witch returned skeptically, with closed eyes but arched eyebrows. 

“That’s just it!  You _don’t_ see why not!  _I_ don’t see why not!  It shouldn’t be able to happen in this reality!”

“But it does.  After all, what’s the point of magic if not to bed the rules?”

The sciencey turtle gave a defeated moan.

“All right, all right, think about it like… oh, what’s that word they like to throw about?  Quantum.  It’s quantum.”

“You can’t just explain things away by calling them ‘quantum’ either!” Don protested snappishly.

“No, no… hear me out.  There’s that thing, the one where they say there could be all sorts of different worlds in other dimensions… Where you get two new worlds, or more, depending on what choice you make in a certain circumstance…”

Don cocked his head like a dog hearing the word ‘walkies’.  “You mean the Infinite Multiverse Theory…”

“That’s the one,” Agnes affirmed curtly.  “Suppose things work a little different in some of those other dimensions, hmm?  And supposing with the right devices, and some words to call those things to you, you could borrow some of that other-ness to make your life in this dimension a little easier.”  She flipped her wand at the paperclips again.  “Roterri!”  Once more, they lifted into the air and resumed their orbit.  “Magic doesn’t last forever, you know.  After a while, it goes right back where it came from.”

He stared at the circling metal links again, with a new understanding and accompanying awe, until her words sank in completely.  “Raph’s wound, then… Once the magic goes away, will it open back up again?”

The witch smiled kindly.  “Living things work differently.  Magic can help things grow and heal, faster than they would on their own… knitting the tissues and blood vessels… Then the body takes back over, using the new growth.”

A look of great hope crossed Donatello’s features, then one of dismay.  “With that kind of power… why haven’t you helped everyone in the world?”

Agnes almost looked mad for a moment, then she took a deep breath.  “Would that I could, my dear, but… Limits,” she said stiffly.

“Limits?  So there are rules?  Physical laws?”

 After a moment of thought with her warty chin in her hand, she settled on a thought.  “The primary rule among witches is ‘You break it, you bought it,’” she said.

“Huh?”

“Never take so much from—or add too much to—other dimensions that it breaks them… Messes up their physics too much, if you will.  Unless you’re willing to pay for it yourself, and those consequences can be dire.  So we don’t do it.  Witches keep our secrets highly guarded, and only use magic to a certain extent… Like… Think of it like having a library card.  You can only borrow so much from these other dimensions until you return what you’ve borrowed.  One person isn’t allowed to take and keep all the books.”

The genius lunged for the paperclips, tackling them to the desk.  “And you’re wasting it on _this?!_ ”

Agnes chuckled merrily.  “Oh, no, no… floating things costs next to nothing!  It’s one reason we use brooms so much.”

Don nodded.  “I think I understand. Every bit of magic has its price, right?  Even so, couldn’t you use more to heal people who need it?”

The old woman’s smile faded again.  “I do what I can where I’m called,” was her cryptic answer.   “Again, limits… but a different kind.  Tell me, do you hear much about witches healing people?  Being some sort of miracle doctor?”

The turtle shook his head.

“I’ll tell you why.  Say I heal someone.  They think I’m a miracle worker, go and tell their friends.  Friends have injuries and sicknesses too… They come to me.  I heal them too.  More and more people come, seeking aid, until I say, ‘No more, I’ve reached my library card limit.’  They wonder, ‘Why?  Why can’t you keep going?  We want more, now!’  But they don’t understand what that limit is, you see.  And they don’t have to bear the cost if it comes to breaking the rule.  But there’s hospital, battlefields, starving children… and people willing to put a gun to your head if you don’t use your magic for them, and… Oh, it’s just a mess in the end.”

Donatello nodded somberly, then set his head down on his desk, rubbing his forehead.  “You know, I really hate quantum…”

  



	4. Mixing Magics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "She turned me into a newt!"

“Very nice, dear!” the old woman praised, and the turtle before her beamed.

“Meemaw, do witches really build houses out of gingerbread?” Mikey asked earnestly, poking a gumdrop into place in the dab of icing Agnes had just squirted on the shingled roof.  The two of them were busily decorating their own gingerbread artifice… ‘House’ was an understatement… it was more of a gingerbread mansion, complete with three tiered floors and a tower, topped with a lollipop-stick spire.  Between the five of them and April and Casey, they would be eating candy-encrusted gingerbread for weeks.

“I don’t imagine so… Well, not for very long,” the witch replied, thumbing the wart on her chin in thought.  “One hard rain, and your whole roof would melt and fall in on you.”  She used her icing bag to add another dollop for her turtle “grandson” to stick on another gumdrop, after which he popped yet another one in his mouth.  “Stop eating them, dear… You’re going to give yourself a tummyache!”  She picked up her wand to float the bag away from him.

Mikey whined as his treats were taken, but went back to the task at hand, sticking a peppermint swirl on the tower roof.  “But you could, couldn’t you?  And maybe put some kind of sealant on it, so it wouldn’t get soggy.  Right?”

“Hmm, yes, I suppose that would work.  At least until the mice got to it.”

At that moment, they were interrupted by yelling from the dojo.  Agnes looked over, concerned, but Michelangelo just sighed.  “And, here we go…”

“It’s important, Raph!”

“Just ‘cause it’s important ta _you_ , Fearless, don’t mean it’s important ta all of us!”

“This new gang is a potential threat!  We need to do proper recon on them before they figure out that we’re on to them, and I don’t need you and Casey barreling in like a couple of barbarians and scattering them before we can do our job!”

“Our _job_?  Our so-called _job_ is whackin’ these lunatics and leavin’ ‘em out cold for the police to take care of before they even get back to whatever ‘leader’ they got!”

“You are staying in the Lair tonight, and that’s final!  Don’t make me have Don do a lockdown just to keep you safe from yourself!”

“Screw you, Fearless!  You ain’t the boss of me!”

“Raph!” Leo snapped at him sharply, but rolled his eyes and let his brother storm off, not wanting to continue the fight.  He retreated back into the dojo, while Raphael stomped across the Lair.

“Oh dear me,” the witch muttered, shocked at the interaction.

“Don’t worry about them,” Mikey told her.  “They’re always butting heads about every little thing.  I’m surprised they’ve held out this long while you’ve been here.  It might be a new record!”

Agnes tracked the hotheaded turtle with her eyes as he entered his room, reemerging moments later with his sai in his belt and cell in his hand.  Her brows furrowed.  “Raphael, dear… You know, your brother makes some very good points about your needing to stay in the Lair,” she said, cautioning.  Behind her, Michelangelo made a choked noise of panic and a lot of hand signals indicating that she did _not_ want to get involved with this.  

“Stay outta dis, Agnes.  Ain’t none ‘a your business,” Raphael snarled her way.

The witch’s expression darkened, mouth twisting with an uneven scowl of disappointment.  “If someone I care for is about to put themselves in a position where they could get hurt, it most certainly is my business!”

Raph whirled on her callously.  “And whaddya gonna do about it, Meemaw?  Turn me into a newt?!” 

Mikey clutched his head in horror at what his brother had just suggested.  He let out a brief scream, and his gestures turned into frantic arm-waving aimed at Raph, who pointedly ignored him, staring down the old woman.

Drawing her wand out of the pocket of her apron, she closed her eyes in a shrug of resignation.  “If that’s what it takes…”

Raph faced her fully, spreading his arms wide to make himself as big a target as possible.  “Go on, take yer best shot!”

“So be it… Gazupacchio!”  The spark from the wand arced out, striking Raph square in the chest.

Mikey shrieked.  “Meemaw, NO!”

“Oh, don’t worry,” the witch said simply.  “Transformations only last about a week.  He’ll get better.”  Mikey tried to hold a laugh, though still distraught. Meanwhile, they watched Raphael’s beak elongate slightly before his rather stunned expression, and his shell meld into his back.  His belt fell off from the lack of tension, sai clanging on the floor.  A long tail flooped out of his backside, and he took on a shine from the layer of mucus his skin began exuding.

They all paused for a moment, expecting more.  Raph glanced around, waiting for the other shoe to drop.  “Izzat it?” he asked finally.

“Well, now!” Agnes huffed.  “That I hadn’t expected!”

Mikey cocked his head.  “Isn’t he supposed to be…?”

“Yes!  He’s supposed to be about yea big,” she agreed, holding her finger and thumb out, about three inches apart.  “But now he’s more like…”  she held the same fingers in front of her eye, trying to fit the image of the newt-ified Raph between them.

“Maybe magic doesn’t get along well with mutagen,” Mike theorized, but that was more his brother’s department.  “Hey, Donnie!” he hollered.

“This feels weird…” the red-banded newt commented, turning to examine his new tail.  “An’ kinda… greasy.”

“Amphibians come pre-lubed!”  Mikey stood back and grinned to himself.

“You are just askin’ for a whackin’…” his newt brother threatened, and the youngest ducked back behind the table, the jostling causing the gingerbread tower to tip and fall into the rest of the structure.  “Aw!  My tower!” he mourned.  “Man… and it fell through the other floors too!”

Agnes was still trying to measure Raph between her fingers when something occurred to her, and she flushed bright pink.  “Ouhh!  I hadn’t realized you really had nothing on under the shell!  Erm, terribly sorry, Raphael, dear,” she said, flustered.  “I shall avert my eyes.”  She clapped her hands across her face, but nonetheless peered at him between her fingers.

“Agh!” the turtle-come-newt also realized with embarrassment, covering himself with his hands and dashing for the bathroom, long tail trailing out behind him.  “AGNES!!!” he bellowed back.

A stunned-looking Don stepped out from the direction Raph had gone.  “Did a salamander version of Raph just run by, naked?”

Mikey grinned broadly, rocking back on his heels.  “He’s not naked.  He’s tastefully newt!”


End file.
